


Remember Me

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Face loses his memory of the last seven years, including all memory of his relationship with Hannibal, who has to try to help him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me

The first week, no one seems quite sure what to do with him. Face is beyond frustrated – he feels absolutely fine, apart from the lingering headache from what the doctors assure him is only a small skull fracture – but they keep telling him the mission he remembers isn’t the mission that caused his injury. They keep telling him the mission he remembers actually took place seven years ago.

He first suspected something was wrong when he woke up in another anonymous medical tent, his first thought for Fordy, rather than for himself. His last memory was throwing himself over the unconscious Sergeant when the explosives were triggered early, but when he tried to get any information out of a dusty and bruised Hannibal – which should have been an early warning sign, because the Colonel hadn’t been anywhere near the warehouses when they blew – his CO had refused to give him any details, just assuring him that everyone was fine, and telling him to get some rest. The drugs in his system had made any other option impossible, and he’d drifted off into a confused blankness once more.

He’s been prodded and poked and scanned and x-rayed far beyond the point where he wanted to storm off out of the med unit, at times only staying because of Hannibal’s firm grip on his shoulder. He’d think they were all messing with him except… Well, Hannibal looks a little older for a start, a little more grey in that silver hair of his, as do Murdock and BA. And when they finally let him out of the unit, he’s astonished by the desert that greets him. Definitely not the mountain base he remembers. What the hell has happened to him?

He’s thrilled and very relieved to see that, at least, his team are still together. As far as Face is concerned, they’ve only been together a few months as a foursome, while Hannibal has been his CO and friend for several years already. Apparently, they’ve done well together these last seven years. He’s still a lieutenant, which doesn’t bother him at all, and he’s still Hannibal’s XO, which is all he’s ever wanted, even though Hannibal is acting very strangely around him. He seems distant, not his usual self, although for all Face knows that might be how they are with each other now, seven years down the line. He really hopes not. Hannibal’s friendship and support means the world to him, although he’s always hoped for much more, and he wonders what his future self might have done to destroy that trust.

* * *

The first week, Hannibal is in shock. He goes through the motions, listening to the doctors’ talk, asking them question after question but getting few answers, just being with Face as he is put through test after test, trying to keep his emotions inside. All he wants to do is wrap his lover up in his arms and soothe his bruises, kiss those missing memories back into him. But he can’t.

“What do I tell him?” Hannibal had asked, when the initial hope that the memory loss had been caused by the mild concussion and hairline fracture had faded, when reality was sinking in. 

“As little as possible,” the doctor had told him. “Broad strokes only. The last thing you want to do is create any false memories for him. I can’t see any sign of long term damage, so hopefully this is just temporary and his memories will return naturally.”

“How long?”

The doctor had just pursed his lips, frowning. “There are three possibilities, Colonel. His memories might come back slowly over time, in which case his younger self will blend into the Face you know. His memories might come back all at once, quite suddenly, in which case he most likely won’t remember he had ever lost them at all. Or - ”

“Or they might not ever come back?” Hannibal hadn’t wanted to ask, but needed to know.

“That’s correct, I’m afraid.” But the doctor had tried to be positive, at least. “We’ll deal with it, whatever happens. Seven years ago he was already a Ranger, he was already on your team, right? So, in theory, very little has to change, except for some retraining.”

In theory, the doctor was right. Seven years ago, they’d been a team for only a few months, the four of them still getting used to each other, still bonding, although the seeds of their closeness had already been sewn and they had several successful missions under their belts. But, personally, Hannibal was devastated. Seven years ago, he and Face hadn’t yet figured out their complicated relationship. Seven years ago, Face had still been playing the field, sleeping with a different woman each night, while Hannibal had already had several years to get used to keeping his love for the boy under wraps. He had lusted after him from afar, taking whatever Face offered in the way of closeness and friendship instead of the true partnership he longed for.

It wasn’t exactly something he could ask the army doctors: “So, when do I tell my gay lover about our secret relationship?” He could see exactly how that would have ended: in a dishonourable discharge for the both of them, and Face likely no closer to regaining his memories. Instead, he spends what little time he has away from his lover’s side reading, researching, trying to figure out what to do for the best. Trying to come up with a plan. There must be something, some procedure, some therapy, that will help bring Face’s memories back.

But of course there is little anyone can do in Afghanistan, no plan to be found. All he can do is follow the doctor’s suggestions and give his Lieutenant some time to heal. But he is struggling to find a happy balance, trying to remember how they used to be with each other while compensating for his boy’s utter confusion, as much as Face is trying to cover it with a cocky front. He isn’t at all sure he is getting it right – Face probably thought Hannibal hadn’t seen any of the unhappy looks he had thrown his way, but they were impossible to miss. 

And each one breaks Hannibal’s heart a little.

* * *

After two weeks, Hannibal arranges for all four of them to return to Benning, hoping the familiar base might jog Face’s damaged memory where an empty, functional tent in the desert hasn’t. From everything he’s read about amnesia, showing rather than telling seems to be the best way forwards. They’d only been in Afghanistan a month, with three of those weeks spent out on missions, so nothing there could help, not really. It’s strange, being back in the states so soon, only a month before Christmas. The first decorations are appearing around the base housing, the shops full of displays of gift ideas, although Hannibal’s house isn’t decorated at all. They shouldn’t have been back for another few months yet, one more Christmas spent on deployment, paper hats in a tent with MREs instead of a roast dinner. 

Now, Hannibal watches as Face moves confidently around in their off-base house – although, of course, Face doesn’t remember the two of them live there together. Hannibal has owned this place for close to ten years now, and it’s the closest place to home for his whole team, so even before they were together, his boy knew where everything was, every cup, spoon, towel, stash of beer.

“Coffee, boss.” Hannibal takes the mug that appears in front of him, startled from his thoughts, and watches as his lover curls into the armchair opposite, tucking those long legs he loves so much carefully beneath himself and sinking into the cushions as he cradles his own mug.

He takes a long, hard look at Face. On the surface, the kid is doing fine, joking and laughing with them all, accepting the limited information they offer him though he still asks a thousand questions. But he knows this man too well, prides himself on being able to read every nuance in that carefully schooled expression, every spark of emotion that passes through those incredible blue eyes. Even though this younger version of Face has a few different mannerisms – Hannibal had forgotten how annoying he found the knuckle-cracking – he knows, deep down, his boy is struggling.

“Thanks, kid,” he says, sipping his coffee slowly. “I know you’re probably sick of being asked, but how are you feeling?”

“I feel exactly the same as normal, except apparently I’ve lost seven years of my life.” Hannibal watches as his handsome lover runs long fingers through already tousled hair, trying not to focus on how long it’s been since those hands had touched him, feeling an entirely inappropriate stab of lust as Face settles deeper into the chair, muscles shifting beneath his shirt. “I mean, it’s crazy right? Feels like this is the biggest practical joke you guys ever pulled on me. Except… Everything’s different, the base, the team. You and me.” 

There’s such a note of confusion in his boy’s voice, almost desperation, and that makes up Hannibal’s mind. For all his attempts at keeping things neutral between them, he knows he’s failing his boy. Face isn’t the only one struggling with this, after all. He has to tell Face about their relationship, he can’t keep this from the kid any longer. He talked it over with Murdock and BA, the only two people he could have talked with, and to his surprise their opinions were the polar opposite of what he expected. 

“The docs said not to tell him much, Boss,” Murdock had fretted. “That’s such a big thing, and it’s so far from where he was seven years ago. If he doesn’t get his memories back, you’re gonna scare him off.” Their pilot is swinging from extreme to extreme with the whole situation, seemingly fine one moment then, when Face is out of the room, letting his distress shine through. He’s confused beyond belief, Hannibal knows, trying to figure out how to help his best friend without pushing, just wanting everything back the way it usually is. Murdock needs stability more than anything else, and Face’s memory loss has rocked his comfortable little world. 

BA, not normally a man of many words, had spoken with Hannibal at length about what to do, listening patiently as the colonel outlined plan after plan, trying to second-guess how Face would react. In the end, he’d been all for it. “If anything’s gonna jog his memory, it’s that. You two such a big part each other. Honestly, man, I’m amazed you waited this long.” Above all things, BA is a man of action, and although he and Face have a quieter relationship than Face and Murdock, full of mutual respect and admiration, Hannibal can see how much this is tearing the big guy up, not being able to fix his friend’s damaged memory.

So now, sitting opposite the shell of the man he loves, he wonders how to do this. How not to scare Face away. Nothing in his research has told him how best to do this. None of his plans apply. “I know it must be hard,” he starts. But his boy doesn’t let him continue.

“Hard? It’s fucking impossible, boss!” There’s anger in Face’s voice now, frustration mixing with the confusion, and Hannibal can hardly blame him. “I don’t feel like anything’s changed. I don’t have, like, a black hole in my memories. I don’t know what I’m missing, only that I’m apparently seven years older. There are people here I know, and other people who seem to know me, though I don’t think I’ve ever met them before. It’s ridiculous!”

“What is, exactly?” 

Those bright blue eyes light with a flash. “Come on, Hannibal. I can deal with buildings being renamed and weapons upgrades and new wars and all that shit. But I don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who I know, if that makes sense.”

Ah. Hannibal hadn’t thought about that, not really. Face hadn’t wanted to go far by himself since their return, understandably, and the team had been sticking closely together. While the lieutenant could make friends in a heartbeat, Hannibal hadn’t considered the conman’s usual motto. “’It’s not who you know, but how you know them’,” he quotes, and the anger in Face’s eyes fades to gratitude at Hannibal’s understanding.

“Who’ve I scammed? Who owes me?” A pause, then a blush creeps over high cheekbones. “More to the point, who’ve I slept with, who did I date and never call again? Seven years of one night stands, Hannibal. That’s a lot of pissed-off women.” Oh, how Hannibal’s chest hurts at that statement. Face is clearly so very certain there is no long-term lover waiting for him, no special someone in his life.

“Easy, kid,” he soothes, and waits a moment while Face settles again. “I need to tell you something.” Blue eyes light up at that, and Hannibal’s heart aches to see the evidence of how hard this must be for him. “Face… Oh, Temp…”

“Hannibal?”

He doesn’t know where to start, struggling for words in a way he never does. He talks around the subject for a little while, about ‘broad strokes’, about not going into details, about important things that have changed over seven years, but eventually he finds there is no easy way to say it. So he just says it straight. “Face, you and I. We’re together, kid. I mean, we’ve been together for three years now.” His lover goes completely still, handsome face devoid of all expression, blue eyes blank, and all Hannibal can do is steel himself and press on. “I’m in love with you, Temp. We’re in love.”

* * *

After two weeks, the first thought that comes into Face’s mind is ‘Well, that sure explains a lot’. Closely followed by, ‘Why on earth would he ever love me?’ He sits, frozen, curled in on himself and staring at Hannibal. His Colonel, mentor, friend, object of many a fantasy, and now, apparently, lover. How on earth did they ever get here?

It doesn’t even cross his mind to doubt Hannibal’s statement. The colonel has never lied to him, that much he believes; he has no reason not to trust him now. It explains all the strange looks he’s picked up on, all the aborted touches. So many of his things in the colonel’s house. The naked emotion in Hannibal’s face as he watches now.

He’s wanted the older man since the first time he laid eyes on him, back in basic training. That tall, lean body, piercing blue-grey eyes able to see right into his soul. The stunning silver hair he’s always longed to run his hands through. The sheer power and strength he’s wanted to feel just take him, bending him over where he stands and claiming him, owning him completely. But it’s more than just the physical: he knows over the years his feelings of lust have turned to love for this wonderful, generous man, though Hannibal has never given him any reason to hope his feelings might be reciprocated. 

And now, he and Hannibal are together?

He still can’t believe that Hannibal is seven years older than he remembers. The other man has been silver-haired for as long as Face has known him, tanned skin already worn and lined from decades of living and working in rough environments, despite all Face’s attempts to get the colonel to use moisturiser or sun-cream. He smiles a little, sadly, to see the new lines near Hannibal’s eyes and the grey hair mixing with silver, but other than that his friend – lover? – looks exactly the same as he always did. Tall, handsome, strong. Face’s rock. 

How are he and Hannibal together?

Hannibal frowns, clearly confused by Face’s smile. That’s right, he hasn’t said anything yet. He wonders what the protocol is here. There are so many questions running through his head, everything from details of how and when and why they got together, to the practicalities – do Murdock and BA know? – but he can’t seem to form words right now. Why would Hannibal want to be with him? Has he finally changed enough to become worthy of his love? And how can he have forgotten everything about himself that Hannibal has fallen in love with?

He and Hannibal are really together?

“Wow,” he manages eventually, brain still spinning. “Hannibal, I - ”

“I don’t mean to pressure you into anything, kid,” the older man interrupts, leaning forward from his seat on the sofa, resting elbows on his knees. “Seven years ago I never dared to dream you would ever want me the way I wanted you. I’m still amazed every morning I wake up with you in my arms. So I can’t… I don’t know how you felt about me seven years ago, how you feel about me right now, I mean. But this is a big part of your life now, and - ”

“And I needed to know.” Hannibal just nods, that frown still present, but Face just feels numb. “I guess that explains why my apartment is so bare? How you got most of my stuff here so quickly?” BA had been the one to show him his own miserable little studio apartment and all Face had been able to see was how rarely he must have slept there. There was practically nothing he recognised, and at the time he just figured he was usually around some girl’s house most nights – or some guy’s place – and he’d been thrilled when Hannibal offered him his spare room. And why is he obsessing about their living arrangements? “Boss, I gotta be honest. I don’t know what to do with this right now.” His head is spinning, and he can’t get past the fact that he and Hannibal are actually together. And in love? Hannibal is in love with the future him?

“I know, I know.” Hannibal offers him a small smile, tentative almost, and Face suddenly really can’t deal with this. “I just needed to tell you. Nothing has to change. You’re welcome here as long as you need; you always have been, and you always will be, until you get your memories back and afterwards. And you will get your memories back, kid.”

The room feels too small, the walls closing in on him, Hannibal too big a presence, and he needs to get away, be somewhere else, just think. This changes everything he knows about himself. He pushes to his feet, shaking his head, gesturing for Hannibal to stay still when the colonel moves to get up with him. “I gotta go, I gottta… I’m just gonna grab a shower, boss. A couple of guys asked me to grab drinks with them later, so I’m just…”

As he heads out of the room, over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears he dimly hears Hannibal say softly, “Sure thing, sweetheart.” And the confusion he’s felt for the last two weeks seems to grow until his chest feels tight – he’s walking in another man’s shoes, in another man’s house. It doesn’t even matter that the other man is him. This just feels so wrong.

* * *

Over the next few days, Hannibal continues to keep his distance, trying not to put any pressure on his boy. He continues to read everything he can get his hands on about memory loss, spending hours online looking at potential treatments, convinced there has to be a plan somewhere. There is always a plan, right? But the doctors still say it’s too soon, that Face needs time to heal, and so Hannibal tries to be patient.

Much to his surprise, Face hasn’t asked him about their relationship or his declaration of love since that first, awkward conversation, though thankfully he hasn’t run either, instead just working a little too hard to keep the status quo. At times he’s looked so very unsure of himself that Hannibal just aches to take him into his arms and offer some comfort, but he has to hold himself back, respecting Face’s need for space and time. He can’t even imagine how his boy must be feeling, and Face isn’t exactly one for talking about the things that matter.

All Hannibal can do is watch as the younger man reacquaints himself with the Benning he knows, mostly unchanged in seven years including several old friends Face is delighted to see still in place. The whole team pitches in to start decorating the house for Christmas, stringing up lights and getting a real tree, dragging boxes of tangled decorations down from the attic, and the atmosphere between all four of them is familiar and comfortable. One day, Face turns up at Hannibal’s with several boxes of spicy Christmas cookies from the mess hall staff and an entirely innocent look plastered on his face. Hannibal recognises the cookies for the peace offering they are, and the two of them eat the whole lot in front of a cheesy movie, side by side on the sofa though not actually touching, and certainly not talking about anything meaningful.

Face seems to be getting some of his confidence back, although Hannibal knows much of it is smoke and mirrors, the con-artist at his finest. He starts to venture further from his team, working out and drinking with some of the other soldiers he meets, some he remembers, others are new. Hannibal encourages this: after all, this is what Face does best. But one afternoon, he announces, almost in passing, “I met a guy named Riley today, he said we were friends? Wants me to maybe get a drink later.”

“Riley? Major Will Riley?” All Hannibal’s protective instincts kick into place, and he feels his heart speed up a little. 

“Yeah, why?” Face looks uncertain again, a frown settling on his handsome brow. “I do know him, right, boss?”

“You do.” Its Hannibal’s turn to pause now, uncertain what he could or should say to his boy. He has never known the truth about what happened between Face and Riley, but he didn’t think they were friends. In fact, Face had always seemed to go out of his way to avoid the other man, and Hannibal had never liked the looks Riley had directed at his boy. Predatory, almost. “I… I don’t know that you were friends. Do you remember anything about him? Any gut feelings?”

Face pins him with a look, a look that screams frustration. “Nothing, boss. Zip, nada, zilch. And I don’t expect you’re going to tell me anything at all about him, are you?

There’s nothing Hannibal can say to that, nothing he can really tell Face other than his own gut feeling that this won’t end well. His lieutenant storms off and the sound of a door slamming echoes through the house. “Damn,” he curses under his breath. His Face still has moments where he storms off in an angry snit, but he’s forgotten how much the Face of seven years ago still acted like a teenager, unwilling to sit and talk if things didn’t go his way. One of the things Hannibal is most proud of his boy for is how much he had grown during their relationship, how they can now sit and speak openly about difficult things. He hadn’t anticipated having to deal with this far more immature version of his boy ever again, and the confusing mix of emotions is giving him a headache, frustration mixing with loneliness, though he feels guilty for even thinking of himself in this whole mess. He has to stay strong for Face, and get him through this, one way or another.

* * *

Thank goodness for Murdock, Face thinks. He’s only known the pilot a few months – at least, he only remembers knowing the pilot for that long – but the easy friendship they had fallen instantly into seems to be intact seven years later, and the other man isn’t treating him like he is damaged goods, unlike BA and Hannibal.

Actually, that’s hardly fair. BA is treating him exactly the same as always, though the big guy is perhaps more open and honest than he normally is – again, Face struggles to remember that seven years of friendship have passed, and of course they would be more comfortable in each other’s space than during those first frantic few months together as a team. But BA is being overprotective, almost to the point of smothering Face, unwilling to let him out of his sight and constantly checking how he is feeling, though to Face’s eternal relief he hasn’t asked about his ‘relationship’ with the boss. He knows the mechanic in BA just wants to fix him, but he doesn’t feel like he is broken.

Hannibal, on the other hand…

Face just doesn’t know what he is supposed to think or feel anymore. His head is still reeling from Hannibal’s announcement, but he feels so much that this future him is a whole other person, that the colonel is in love with Future Face, not with the damaged version he’s been stuck with. As much as a part of him wants to just jump the colonel, suspecting Hannibal would be more than fine with that, the rest of him just can’t deal with the whole situation. He’s in a holding pattern, waiting for the moment his memories snap back into place.

He hasn’t tried to ask Hannibal for details. A part of him is scared to hear answers, to hear the older man trying to explain why Future Face is now his lover. But a larger part of him is scared that Hannibal won’t or can’t answer his questions. So he just doesn’t ask, doesn’t even try. Doesn’t even know how to try, if he’s honest with himself.

Murdock and BA both know all about his relationship with Hannibal, and that much at least makes sense in a unit as tight as theirs clearly is. The pilot lets Face talk as much or as little as he wants, offering little nuggets of wisdom in between his usual running commentary of insane voices and impersonations. It’s comforting beyond belief that Murdock is still Murdock, although Face’s heart hurts a little to see the moments of distress his friend can’t quite hide from him, knowing that he is the cause.

“Go easy on the bossman, okay?” Murdock suggests, when Face is really struggling, wanting to let Hannibal close but not knowing how. “Don’t ever doubt that he only wants the best for you, whether or not you get your memories back. He loves you so much, Facey. He loved you for all those years but he never said anything. He still loves you now.”

Face wonders what will happen if he never remembers those mythical seven years. Will Hannibal eventually tell him some of what he has lost? As much as he understands the doctors reasoning and warnings about creating false memories, he hates knowing people are keeping things from him. He’s the details man, and right now he doesn’t know any of the details. He’s done his own research into memory loss, knowing his colonel has spent hours looking into ways to help him, but nothing he’s found out has been of any comfort. He’s sinking under the weight of this, and he doesn’t know how to let Hannibal help him. But he wants to try. He wants Hannibal.

* * *

Hannibal stops dead in the bathroom doorway, unsure whether he should stay put or beat a hasty retreat. Face is stood in front of the full length mirror, his hair still dripping wet and curling wildly in all directions, although he’d got as far as pulling on a pair of black boxer-briefs before something in the mirror had clearly caught his attention.

As he watches, Face turns slightly to one side, then to the other, a look of concentration fixed on his face as he brings one hand up to brush across his flat stomach. To anyone else this would look like vanity on display and, to be fair, Face’s muscle-packed, tanned body is crying out to be admired and inspected in minute detail, but as the younger man brushes long fingers tentatively across the scar on the right side of his belly, Hannibal realises what the kid is doing.

Remembering his promise not to push his lover, Hannibal steps back silently, deciding to give Face his privacy, but as a soft voice calls him back he realises that, of course, Face had known he was there all along.

“Appendix?” Hannibal meets Face’s questioning gaze in the mirror and nods.

“Yes, two years ago.” God, that had scared the life out of him, and scared Face too. His lover had woken up one morning with dull stomach pains and a low temperature, and ended the day in emergency surgery after collapsing in agony in Hannibal’s arms. He’d felt sure he was going to lose the kid that time, when everything had happened so fast, Face’s condition deteriorating so rapidly. But he limits his comments to a simple, “It was a little dramatic.” Then he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment as he remembers Face crying out for him, BA and Murdock having to physically drag Hannibal from the room so the doctors could treat him.

But Face, of course, doesn’t remember any of that now. When Hannibal manages to peel his eyes open again, those elegant fingers have already moved on, running over other scars on his stomach and chest, most barely visible now but still present. He pauses on a rough patch of skin by his left hip and, in answer to the curiously raised eyebrow, Hannibal supplies, “Gravel burn. Iraq, five years ago.”

Face nods slowly, moving his hand down to a long, jagged scar on his right thigh, tracing it from near his knee to the point where it disappears beneath his underwear. “And this?”

“Three years ago.” The first time Face had been seriously injured since the two of them had got together, and Hannibal hadn’t known how to cope, forcing himself into strict ‘Colonel’ mode and trying to supress the panicky urge to fuss over his wounded lover. 

“Knife?”

“Sword, actually.”

Whistling through his teeth, Face shakes his head as he continues to inspect his reflection. “It’s obviously been a rough few years,” he mutters, almost to himself. “And the old aches and pains don’t get any better.”

Hannibal had to nod in agreement, able to relate to that statement more and more as the years passed by, with the first twinges of arthritis starting to make themselves known to him, though he’d never admit that to anyone but his Face. “Your right knee?”

“And shoulder.” Hannibal watches with a frown as Face rubs at the joint, absentmindedly enjoying the play of muscles across his lover’s back. All these years and the other man had never told him his shoulder still bothered him, though of course it made sense – Face had dislocated it seven or eight times now, although right now he would only remember four of those.

They fall into an easy silence as Face continues to observe his ‘new’ body, poking at a scar every now and then. Hannibal lets himself lean on the doorframe, again uncertain of what to do for the best. He longs to close the two steps between them and wrap his boy up in his arms, to stroke and smooth away the phantom aches and pains from injuries both remembered and forgotten. The sight of his lover’s mostly-naked body is doing what it always does, and Hannibal is forced to shift a fraction as his pants start to grow a little tight.

That slight movement seems to break the spell between them, and Face again meets his eyes in the mirror, seeming to read Hannibal’s urge to touch. Instead, Hannibal deliberately clears his throat and turns away into the bedroom as his lover grabs a towel, wrapping it around lean hips before following him.

“Hannibal, it isn’t that I don’t want you to - ”

“I know, kid, I know. I’m sorry. No pressure, I said. It’s just… difficult.” He figures there is little point lying to the kid – Face is under no illusions as to the nature of their relationship – and so he adds, “I just miss you.”

His lover looks so sad that Hannibal immediately wishes he hadn’t said that. “This must be harder on you than it is on me,” Face says, slowly. “I mean, I feel like I’ve just… I don’t know, like I’ve just time travelled or something, just leaped forward. Switched places with the future me.”

Hannibal sinks down onto the bed and, after a moment, he feels the mattress dip slightly as Face follows suite, keeping a foot or so of space between them. “I know you’re still you,” he tries to explain, encouraged that, for the moment at least, his boy isn’t running from the conversation. “But you’re you as you were, and we’ve been through so much together…” He lets his head hang, staring at the carpet between his sock-clad feet. He hates that he doesn’t know the right words, hates feeling like he does, not knowing what to do or say for the best. He’s the man with a plan, always three steps ahead, but he’s been forced to accept that there is no plan anymore. Not for this.

A tentative hand landing on his knee makes him jump a little, and he glances up to see Face watching him carefully, bright blue eyes staring into his own. “It isn’t that I don’t want you, boss. Hell, I’ve dreamed about being with you since we first met – I hope the other me has told you that. But I hate not knowing everything, not knowing how we got together, how this thing works between us. I’m not him.” When Hannibal starts to speak, Face holds up a swift hand, continuing, “If I don’t ever remember, and if you still want me, maybe we can try…?”

Hope blooms in his chest and he smiles up at his brave boy, patting the hand still resting on his knee. “Nothing would make me happier, Temp. But only if and when you’re ready, okay?”

“Thanks Hann – John.” And then Face is up and away, rifling through the clothes on his dresser. “I gotta get moving, I’m meeting Riley and some of his friends.”

Any hope Hannibal feels at the rare use of his given name is quickly swallowed by concern at that last statement and he wishes, not for the first time, that his lover had told him what really happened with the Major. He wonders whether he should invite himself along, be there if anything happens. Still, he knows that Face can take care of himself, even missing several years’ worth of memories. 

“Just be careful, kid,” he says, trying hard not to sound like an overprotective Dad. As he heads out of the room, leaving his boy to dress in peace, he tries to sound chirpy as he adds, “And have a good time.”

* * *

He should’ve listened to Hannibal, he knows that now. How many times will he have to learn that lesson the hard way? How many times has his future self learned that lesson, or does he know it by now? Does the day ever arrive when he just trusts Hannibal’s instincts more than he trusts his own?

Face lifts the towel away from his nose for a moment, lifting his head briefly to glance in the mirror. He’s a mess, left eye swollen, lip torn and still bleeding freely, though the flow from his nose seems to have stopped now and it doesn’t feel broken. He thinks maybe a couple of ribs are, though.

The flickering light in his tiny bathroom makes the bruises seem even worse, and he drops his gaze again, rinsing the bloody towel in the sink before dabbing gingerly at his nose and lip once again. Thank goodness he has his own apartment – he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Hannibal like this, hearing yet another lecture, hearing that dreaded phrase ‘I told you so’.

Riley and his friends – three muscly apes – tried to jump him, plain and simple. A seedy bar a short distance from the base, a dark alley out back… Face had actually picked up on their intentions pretty early in the evening, trying to make a more civilized getaway before the four men had grabbed him, dragged him outside, tried to pin him, tried to get his pants down, get him on his stomach…

They hadn’t succeeded of course, and his only real pleasure now was in knowing they were all in a lot worse shape than he was. “Ranger, baby,” he whispers to his battered reflection, allowing himself a dark chuckle as he remembers the surprise on Riley’s face as he’d been beaten to the ground. Face had surprised himself, fighting more by instinct than by conscious thought. He’d picked up some new moves in the last seven years, his body clearly in top physical shape. “Damn stupid fucking memory,” he hisses, pushing off from the sink in search of painkillers. He guesses maybe this is what happened before, that this is why Hannibal warned him off. But this is taking the whole ‘broad strokes’ thing to its outer limits.

If Hannibal loves him, surely he would have told him more? He wouldn’t have let him walk into a situation like this blindly, not if they were really in love? All Face can do is shake his aching head carefully, gulping down the two pills he finds in the bottom of an old prescription bottle, as the confusion that is becoming his ever-present companion swells to take over everything. How can he think he can possibly do this? How can he pick up the threads of his future self’s life without making an utter mess of everything?

* * *

Face didn’t come home last night, and Hannibal spent the entire evening pacing up and down in ever increasing circles, kicking himself for not following the kid. He knew something would happen, should have trusted his gut instinct and not let his boy leave alone. Instead, he’d tried to give Face the room to make his own mistakes, not having any evidence to prove that meeting up with Riley was truly a mistake. Finally, in the early hours, he’d got a text to say Face was crashing at his own place. So now, not too early in the morning, brandishing steaming cups of coffee and a bag of donuts, Hannibal stands outside Face’s door, debating whether or not to just let himself in. If nothing else, maybe last night was a sign that Face needed some space, despite the steps they have taken towards each other, and so Hannibal knocks twice. And waits.

He can’t stand feeling this vulnerable. He can’t risk losing Face, can’t risk scaring him away, but it still goes against all his instincts not to try to force those memories back. To rein himself in and let his boy do things in his own time, in his own way. After several minutes, he knocks again, louder, fear starting to set in a little. What the hell happened last night? He knocks for a third time, on the verge of reaching for his key, when he finally hears movement inside, Face calling out, “Alright, alright. I’m coming, dammit!”

The door is thrown open, and Hannibal gasps to see the state of his Lieutenant. Before he can ask the obvious question or even get a good look at all the bruising and cuts, Face just waves him in, saying, “I know, I know, we need to talk.” As Hannibal passes him, the kid cheekily snags a coffee. “Thanks, boss.”

Hannibal manages to keep his growing anger and worry under control until they are standing, face to face, in the middle of Face’s tiny apartment, bare of any Christmas decorations, almost bare of any personality at all. He turns to his boy and grows, “Riley did this?”

His lover looks terrible, black eye, bruised nose, split lip. From the way he has one arm wrapped around his chest, Hannibal is willing to bet his ribs are bruised, or worse, as well. But blue eyes flash in anger not pain as Face snaps back at him. “Did you know this would happen?”

He reels a little at that, completely thrown. “What?” he breathes. “No, Face. I didn’t know anything would happen.”

“But you told me to be careful, you knew something.”

“I knew nothing; you never told me what happened.” Taking a breath, forcing himself to lean back against the windowsill when all he wants to do is tend to Face’s injuries, he tries to focus. If he goes to the kid now, without being invited, he could lose him completely. Instead, he tries not to think about killing the bastard that did this to his boy. “You’d gone out for drinks a couple of times. I found you upset one night, but not hurt, and I swear you never told me what happened.” Face had let Hannibal comfort him that night, one of the very first nights they had shared a bed when there was no real need for it, cuddling up together through choice rather than necessity. 

“I never…?” Some of the anger seems to fade from the other man, and he sinks down into a chair, a wince quickly concealed. “No, I don’t suppose I would tell you. I should’ve known you wouldn’t let me…” To Hannibal’s horror, a sob escapes from Face’s throat before he manages to continue. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know who to trust, who to listen to. I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry, boss, I’m so sorry…”

This time, Hannibal can’t stay back. He’s across the tiny apartment before he even knows it, cradling Face to his chest gently, careful of his injuries, kissing the top of his head repeatedly as his lover sobs quietly in his arms. “Oh my boy,” he whispers. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’ll get you through this, I promise.”

* * *

Several days have passed since Face broke down in Hannibal’s arms, since the colonel took his boy home once again. Face’s bruises have faded to a sickly yellow and, although he refuses to see a doctor, Hannibal is satisfied that he has no problems breathing, that his ribs are healing well.

They talk, finally. They talk a lot, actually, more than Hannibal ever remembers talking all those years ago. He isn’t naturally one for sharing his deepest feelings, while the Face he remembers from seven years ago was far more likely to run than have a serious conversation. But this Face is different now, sinking a little under the weight of his confusion. The incident with Riley has shaken his confidence in his natural ability to read people, to make friends with ease, and he’s been staying close to home once more. He finally asks, and Hannibal tells him a little, about their relationship, about how much the two of them have changed in seven years, to the stage where they can be in a committed relationship.

Face talks about his ‘future self’ as a different person, a third person in the room, and Hannibal’s heart just aches to see the lack of self-confidence in his boy. He’s spent a lot of his time, especially over the last three years, building Face up, showing his lover that he is worthy of being loved. He’s forgotten how insecure Face really was all those years ago, hiding behind a cocky façade and a string of different women (and men, as Hannibal now knows). Though he doesn’t remember Face ever being quite this bad, and he knows it’s a combination of the confusion his boy is going through, mixed with the revelation of how much Face had managed to hide from him, even back then.

As the sun begins to set one evening, the two of them sitting quietly in the lounge together, Hannibal notices Face wince a little when he turns on a lamp. “You okay, kid?” he asks softly. 

Face nods cautiously, one hand rubbing at his forehead, eyes a little pinched. “Just a bit of a headache, boss,” he breathes, book falling forgotten into his lap as he raises both hands now to rub at his eyes, head dropping back against the cushions.

Hannibal is instantly on alert. Apart from the recent beating, Face is still recovering from the skull fracture which cost him his memories, and any headache could be a sign of problems. 

Face seems to read his mind though, smiling a little even as he keeps rubbing his eyes. “Honest, Hannibal, it’s nothing bad. I’m tired, I’m stressed… I’m sick of hiding away; I gotta find a way to get on top of this, with or without these damn memories.”

Pausing a moment, studying the younger man, Hannibal decides to give Face the benefit of the doubt for now. Climbing out of his chair, he fetches a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol, pressing them into his lover’s hands, watching as Face gets them down with a nod of thanks. As always, Hannibal hates seeing his lover in pain, but still he hesitates. Face has neither encouraged nor discouraged his physical touch, and Hannibal certainly hadn’t pushed anything, barely able to imagine how it would feel to suddenly be told he’d been in a serious relationship he remembered nothing about. Even if it was with a man he loves, as he knows – hopes – Face loves him.

But he can’t watch Face in pain, and they’d always been close even before they stepped up their friendship to something more. So with a mental shake, telling himself to stop worrying too much and overthinking things, Hannibal moves behind the chair and rests his hands on Face’s shoulders, starting to gently massage the tight muscles.

* * *

Face feels himself tense up the instant Hannibal’s hands start to move on his body, kneading his muscles through the thin t-shirt he wears. His headache isn’t that bad, pounding behind his eyes, and he forces himself to relax as those strong hands start to move with more confidence, thumbs finding the knots at the base of his neck and circling with the perfect amount of pressure.

“This okay, kid?” Hannibal murmurs, voice deep in his chest, and all Face can do is groan as those fingers press deeper, finding and releasing all the tension he didn’t realise he was carrying. Minutes or possibly hours pass by as the other man works his shoulders then his neck, and he gasps in bliss as finally those strong hands stroke up into his hair, short nails scratching his scalp gently, thumbs pressing just so into the hollow at the base of his skull. He whimpers a little when Hannibal removes his touch briefly, only to sigh as callused fingers return to stroke gently, carefully across his forehead, avoiding his bruises, rubbing soft circles at his temples and encouraging him to let his head fall back as those fingers comb through his hair again and again.

Eyes closed, breathing deep and slow, Face lets himself get lost in the sensation as Hannibal continues to sooth his headache away. The chair has a low back, and he is very aware of the other man’s body nearby, his own body starting to react to the closeness. He feels Hannibal shift behind him, hands stuttering a little as they move gently over his cracked skull, and he lifts his heavy head to turn and see – 

Oh. An unmistakable bulge in faded denim. Hannibal immediately guides his head back into the cushions with a tender hand, and Face hears him clear his throat. “Sorry, Face,” the colonel murmurs, hands not moving now, just resting in his hair. “It’s nothing. I guess my body doesn’t know you’re not yourself right now.”

And suddenly, Face wonders what the hell he’s waiting for. Hannibal loves him, that much is obvious, and he’s wanted the older man for years. He might not remember the hows and the whys of their relationship, but from the way his own body is reacting, he needs to stop thinking and start feeling again. He needs to stop waiting for his memories to return.

He looks up to see piercing grey-blue eyes peering into his own, sees the lust there, mixed with a little embarrassment. And more than anything, love. “Hannibal? Show me, please? Remind me…?” 

And the last tendrils of his headache explode as Hannibal leans down to meet his lips with a burning kiss.

* * *

Hannibal guides Face down gently onto the mattress, stealing kiss after kiss, fighting the urge to just rip his lover’s clothes from his body and show him how much he’s missed this. He has to remember that, for Face, this is their first time, even though they’ve been together for so many years. He feels like he’s been hard for weeks, since the explosion that cost Face his memories – this is by far the longest they’ve gone without sex unless one of them was badly injured – and Hannibal has missed his boy so very badly, even though they’ve barely been apart. 

Pulling back fractionally, relishing the disappointed whimper Face can’t hold back, Hannibal gazes deep into those bright blue eyes. “You sure, Temp? I promised you no pressure…”

Face answers his question by pushing up a little from the bed, stripping off his top and fumbling with the buttons on Hannibal’s shirt, peppering little kisses along Hannibal’s jaw the whole time. “Please, John, I need …”

“You never have to beg, sweetheart, not with me.” He makes short work of stripping the both of them, moving to lie on top of Face again as soon as he can, skin on skin at last, relishing the feel of his lover’s toned body pressed as close to his own as possible, delighted to feel the evidence of Face’s arousal rubbing against his own as he moves slowly over him. “Oh god, Face… I missed you so much…” Leaning down as Face stretches up, they meet in another kiss, slower and deeper this time, his lover reaching up to wrap arms around Hannibal’s back, pulling him even closer. 

“Hannibal – John – I’ve never… I mean, I’ve not…” 

It takes a second before Hannibal realises the meaning of Face’s stuttering, and then it slams home to him. “Oh, kid. Of course. I should’ve known…” He keeps them pressed close but stays still, giving Face a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t done it before, it’s just usually…” Even in the dim light Face’s blush is visible. “Never like this, not - ”

“Not in a bed. And not with someone who loves you.” Again that flash of gratitude in blue eyes, as Face seems to remember how well Hannibal knows him now. “Just trust me, sweetheart, and trust your body. It knows me well, and it remembers how this works, even if you don’t.” As if to prove his point, he reaches one hand between their bodies, stroking Face’s erection briefly before finding his balls, lifting and rolling them in the way he knows makes his lover melt with delight. Sure enough, there are those sounds Hannibal knows so well, the deep groan as he rubs his thumb over his boy’s perineum, the louder cry as he stretches down to suck and lick at a taut nipple.

He’d been unsure how to do this, whether to take Face slow or hard, whether to let him dictate the pace or not. But now he knows, no question at all, that he just needs to make this spectacular for his young lover, needs to use everything he has ever learned about this incredibly responsive body until Face is screaming with pleasure beneath him. And with a tender smile, he goes to work, showering Face with all the love he possesses. 

* * *

If he ever had any doubts about the relationship his future self and Hannibal share, they have long since vanished in the haze of passion. He never knew sex could be like this, so incredibly intense, so slow and tender he wants to weep, and he certainly can’t keep his cries inside as Hannibal moves over his body so lovingly, hitting every hot spot he has, as well as a few he didn’t even know about. His older lover plays his body like an instrument, and all Face can do is lie back and feel, following Hannibal’s instructions to trust his instincts. His body is certainly responding as if they’ve done this before, arching into each touch, reaching out for his lover.

Hannibal nuzzles and licks at the soft spot behind his ear, making him gasp as, with his other hand, a nipple is gently teased. A firm hand presses into his lower belly, holding him still as the colonel strokes his hardness, slowly at first then with increasing strength, twisting at the head in a move that has him writhing on the bed. He screams aloud as Hannibal swallows him to the root, still holding him down, throat working around his length with delicious pressure, yet pulling off before he finds release, leaving him a whimpering mess.

Strong hands lift his hips, a thick pillow sliding beneath his lower back as warm, slick fingers tease at his cleft, stroking gently over his entrance. One deliciously long finger breaches him, pushing in slowly, and again he whimpers. He’s never felt anything like this, so loving, so gentle, and he finds his breath stolen as Hannibal leans in for kiss after kiss even as two fingers work him ever more open.

Those probing fingers hit something incredible deep inside and he feels liquid lightening shoot through his veins as Hannibal moves to three fingers, spreading him wide, before those wonderful digits are gone and then he finds his shaking legs lifted onto strong shoulders, thighs briefly massaged by firm hands before Hannibal practically folds him in half and starts to press himself home.

He wants to scream as Hannibal splits him open, that magnificent burning length pressing ever so slowly into his most private place, but the glorious weight of his lover on his chest, the intense position they are in… All he can do is gasp, staring up into eyes filled with love as Hannibal murmurs over and over, “Love you so much, my beautiful boy, my brave boy, my love…”

And then they are fully joined, Hannibal holding still above him for a moment, letting him adjust to the intimacy of this position, letting him feel every inch of his lover, throbbing deep inside in rhythm with their matching heartbeats. Now, Face can’t hold back the tears as he realises the depth of the love they must share for each other. His own erection lies crushed between their joined bodies, aching for release as Hannibal leans even further forward to kiss him yet again, stealing what little breath he has left. “Okay?” his lover manages to gasp, and all Face can do is nod, craning his neck for another kiss as Hannibal finally starts to move.

He thinks he wants hard and fast, but Hannibal keeps it long and gentle, gliding in and out so very slowly that Face can’t help but just feel, hands finding the strength to reach up above his head and seize the headboard. A shift of Hannibal’s hips, an extra surge from that powerful body, and on the next glide in Face sees stars as his prostate is hit spot on. Hannibal keeps that angle, gradually picking up speed, and now Face can’t see anymore, vision whiting out as his passion grows and grows, neglected cock now rock hard and balls tight. But Hannibal draws him out expertly, clearly knowing exactly what he needs, and all Face can do is lie there and gasp as finally, finally…

The next few thrusts are short and sharp, Hannibal’s hips snapping fast, and all Face can hear is his blood pounding in his ears and then everything just explodes around him as he feels Hannibal lock rigid above him, hips stuttering to a halt as he roars out his release, the hot rush of semen across his prostate sending Face flying high as his own orgasm crashes over him.

The last thing he hears as his vision fades to black and the world fades to darkness is Hannibal’s – John’s – breathless voice, whispering in his ear. “I love you so, Temp…” And he dares to believe that, just maybe, he could try to become that person again, memories or not.

* * *

If this was a movie or a novel, Hannibal knows that their incredible reunion would have caused Face’s missing memories to come flooding back. That his lover would have woken the following morning wondering what all the fuss had been about, curious as to how they got back to Benning, bemused when Hannibal hugged him tight and wouldn’t let him go.

Instead, little has changed. Face is still missing seven years’ worth of his memories, only now he is throwing himself happily into discovering a relationship with Hannibal. The next night his young lover lavishes him with attention, exploring Hannibal’s body thoroughly as if for the first time, which, for him, it might as well be. The physical side is easy, their bodies fitting together as perfectly as they ever did. The Face from seven years ago was already a skilful and powerful lover Hannibal notes, with a hint of regret at what might have been, and his lover quickly learns all the right moves, finding out which ones make Hannibal shout with pleasure, even as the colonel continues to show him unexpected erogenous zones on his own body.

Oh yes, the physical is easy, but the emotional is a whole other thing. After that first incredible night together, Face shies away from any talk of love, still tending to run from any deep and meaningful conversations. Hannibal mourns the loss of the closeness they share, so many nights spent together talking about all their fears and hopes, their childhoods – he always treasures what little his Face had been willing to trust him with – but now he worries that they are in danger of making this all about the sex. 

Above all, Hannibal knows Face still doubts their whole relationship, doesn’t trust in it the way he should. Doesn’t believe why Hannibal is in love with him, doesn’t give him the chance to explain. The younger Face had such little self-esteem, Hannibal knows he never felt worthy of being loved – he’s been determined to show his lover how wrong he is, every day for as long as they are together, and now he determines to do it all over again. They still have difficult moments, moments when Face doubts himself more than anything, wondering why Hannibal is putting up with him, but the colonel learns how to handle the kid, knowing when to give him space and when to pull him close, kissing away his fears. 

If this was a movie or a novel, Hannibal knows Face would get his memories back in time for Christmas. But as the day finally arrives, still nothing. For the first time in many years they are not on deployment for the holidays, and they spend a few days with BA’s beloved mama in Chicago, being spoilt rotten. Mama Baracus has always treated each of her son’s team like her own children, even the great Hannibal Smith, and it turns out to be amusing watching her treat a slightly wary Face – who has no memories of her at all – like a long lost son. She makes no allowances at all for his lost memories, talking over him and around him and generally making a fuss of him until at last Hannibal sees his boy relax, going with the flow, letting himself be hugged and pampered and fed far too many home-baked goods. It’s a good Christmas, Hannibal reflects, all in all. 

When the new year arrives, they have to face facts, that maybe Face will never get his memories back. Perhaps the time has come to start moving on, and Murdock and BA are there every step of the way as Face starts to get his confidence back properly, getting back into training. He runs with Murdock, lifts weights with BA, goes over report after report with Hannibal, catching up on years’ worth of intel lost to his damaged memory. He hits the range, delighted to find he knows the Captain in charge from his own days in Ranger training, and spends hour after hour learning and relearning the weapons he knows so well, finding his body still knows instinctively how to handle the newer weapons his mind tells him he’s never seen before.

Hannibal watches with pride as Face starts to venture out on his own again, making new friends, rediscovering old ones. Word of his memory loss has spread through the base, and most people are fully understanding. Riley is long gone from Benning, Hannibal and BA having cornered the Major and his three ‘friends’, spitting threats and generally terrifying the men, although Hannibal held himself back from actually hitting them, seeing the damage Face had already done (and he is so very proud of his boy for putting all four of them down). Without Face’s testimony there can be no case against them, and he won’t put Face through that, knows his lover would never agree, so he quietly arranges for their transfers to a base far away. A few words whispered in the right ears will ensure their lives are hell for the foreseeable future, and Hannibal has to content himself with that, pouring his focus into getting Face back to his best.

The headaches come and go, and Hannibal eventually forces Face to go back to the medics to get checked over. They put him through yet more scans and tests, finding nothing obviously wrong to Hannibal’s relief, telling them both that the human brain is still a mostly unknown organ, that most likely Face is still healing from the fracture and the concussion. Hannibal tries not to hover, trusting Face to tell him when the pain is too bad, and for the most part his lover seems to be honest with him, not trying to hide anything. 

Today is apparently a bad day, and Hannibal returns from a meeting to find Face curled on top of their bed, blinds drawn against the bright sunshine. He slips off his shoes, climbing carefully onto the bed behind his lover, kissing warm lips tenderly as Face turns to greet him. “You need anything, sweetheart?” he whispers, noticing the tight lines of pain around his boy’s eyes.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” Blue eyes squeeze shut again as Hannibal slips one arm under his head, wrapping the other carefully around his chest and pulling him close. “Just a headache, right? And I’ve had worse. You remember that time in Argentina?”

Hannibal winces himself at the memory, remembering the mission that had left the two of them captured and tied up in a hut, Face suffering a fairly horrendous concussion after being repeatedly beaten around the head with a bat. Then he feels the realisation hit him hard: that mission had only been five years ago. Was Face starting to remember? “Kid - ” he starts, but then to his horror he feels Face tense up in his arms, back arching unnaturally. 

“John, something’s wrong…” As soon as the gasped words leave his lips, Face’s eyes roll back in his head and he starts to shake, arms and legs spasming out of control as he is lost to a seizure. The whole bed starts to rattle with the force of his movements, and the harsh gasps as Face’s lungs try to pull in enough oxygen sound far too loud in the silent house. 

Hannibal is frozen in horror for a second before he snaps into action, turning his shaking lover carefully onto his side and holding him there as best he can, as he reaches into his pocket, trembling fingers finding his phone and calling for help. “Hang in there, Temp, please,” he murmurs desperately. “Hang on for me.”

* * *

Déjà vu, thinks Hannibal, trying to make himself comfortable in the standard plastic chair. How many hours has he spent in hospitals and medical units and tents across the world, waiting for one of his boys to wake up? Face, especially, seems to have a knack for being the one injured and lying in a hospital bed, always the first one into danger and the last one out, protecting his colonel and his whole team, putting more grey into his lover’s hair.

This time at least, hopefully Face won’t stay asleep for long. Yet again the doctors have run all the possible scans and tests, and yet again they say there is nothing they can do, that this was probably just an ongoing symptom as the lieutenant continues to heal. As a precaution, Face is hooked up to an IV containing a strong anti-seizure drug, and he’s already been stirring a little, even if he hasn’t managed to open his incredible blue eyes yet. But Hannibal plans to be here when he does, trying to prepare himself for whichever version of his lover does wake up. 

He hopes that Face has really begun to regain his lost memories, but he also knows that, whether or not his boy remembers the last seven years and the details of their relationship, at least Face still is his boy, still wants to be his lover, even if they have to start more or less from scratch. He long ago decided he would take whatever Face was willing to give him, so now call he can do is wait. So he sits, restricting himself to holding the kid’s hand tightly, and he waits.

* * *

Déjà vu, thinks Face, his first conscious thought for who knows how long. This seems to happen to him far too frequently. All around him are the familiar sounds and smells of a medical unit of some sort, and he can feel the needle of an IV in his arm, though he seems relatively uninjured apart from a pounding headache. His team obviously managed to get him back to base after the explosion, though he doesn’t really remember anything about the journey. How long has he been out? And, more importantly, are his team ok? Hannibal was close by his side when everything blew up – is his lover injured too?

His eyes don’t want to cooperate just yet, nor does the rest of his body actually, although he manages to wiggle his fingers and toes a little, satisfying himself that there really isn’t anything major wrong with him. He becomes aware of someone holding his hand tightly, then someone – presumably the same someone, though he still can’t force his eyes to open – runs gentle fingers through his hair. And he hears the wonderful, deep voice of his colonel, his better half, speaking softly to him, urging him to open his eyes.

He’s never been able to disobey that voice, so he tries, he really does. With a supreme effort, he manages to crack his eyelids open, just a fraction, though the brightness of the room nearly makes him slam them shut again.

A shadowy someone moves into his line of sight, blocking the brightest of the lights, and Face takes the opportunity to blink slowly a few times, until Hannibal comes into focus. “Face? Sweetheart, you awake at last?” Hannibal’s voice is calm, encouraging as he smiles down at him. “Well hello there, kid. Take it easy, everything’s okay.”

“Hi,” he whispers, coughing a little to clear his throat. “You get the number of the truck that hit me?”

Rather than laughing at his admittedly feeble joke, Hannibal frowns a little, stilling the hand that had been stroking his head ever so gently. “Truck? Face, what exactly do you remember?”

“C’mon, boss… I’m kidding, right?” He pauses a moment, studying his lover. Hannibal looks fine, no scratches or bruises visible. Exactly how long has he been out? “You okay? BA? Murdock?”

“We’re all fine, baby.” Now it’s Hannibal’s turn to pause, the frown on his face growing a little deeper, and Face starts to really worry. He doesn’t like that look on his lover. Just what the hell happened? “I’ll explain everything, I promise. But first, can you tell me what you remember? What happened?”

“Things just blew up, boss. I don’t know, was it the fuses?” He really doesn’t remember much to be honest. “You’re okay? You didn’t get hit?”

“No, I’m fine, kid.” Hannibal pauses yet again, and alarm bells are really ringing now: the boss is never lost for words. “Face, the last few years… What do you remember?”

“What?” Years? Where the hell does Hannibal want him to start? “You want day by day? ‘Cause I know my memory’s good, but that might be a bit beyond me right now…” His head is starting to really throb again, and he closes his eyes, only to force them back open when he feels a large hand cup his cheek.

“It’s important, kid.” From the way Hannibal is looking at him, he thinks it really must be, so he tries to muster up his strength. “Do you remember the last seven years?”

“Yeah, boss, of course I do. Seven years ago, we’d all just got together, right? After Mexico. I remember the team, the missions… You and me, finally, three years ago… Why does it matter?”

In reply, Hannibal glances quickly to the door, making sure the coast is clear, before leaning down and kissing him softly, gently. Face lets himself relax into that wonderful touch, although it is gone all too soon when his lover pulls back a fraction. “Just rest for now, sweetheart. I’ll explain everything later.” Another quick peck on the lips, and that frown is gone, replaced by a wide grin, worry fading from those blue-grey eyes Face loves so much. “It’s good to have you back, Temp. Everything’s going to be alright now.”

* * *

And now Face is finally back where he belongs, or at least, his memories are back where they belong. At first, the kid is convinced Hannibal is joking with him, as he lies recovering in the hospital. Thankfully there are no more seizures or headaches, except for the ones he claims to get as he listens to Hannibal explain everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, but the doctors keep him in overnight anyway, determined to keep an eye on him. Hannibal quizzes him over and over again on the last few years of their lives – names, dates, missions, places – until a laughing Face tells him to stop, insisting he is fine, he remembers everything except the last few weeks, and the colonel finally begins to relax, believing his lover is really telling the truth. 

Murdock and BA visit, of course, both of them delighted Face is feeling better and remembering everything at last, although it takes a little while to calm the pilot down at first when he hears how serious the seizure was. It is the two of them, even more than Hannibal, who convince Face to stay put overnight, rather than letting him walk out of the hospital when he insists he is fine. And it is the two of them who manage to convince Face of the truth of what has happened to him, that he really did forget everything that had happened over the last seven years. 

Amidst the confusion and the teasing and the relief, especially on Hannibal’s part, the one thing that hits Face hard is the fact that he’s missed Christmas. It doesn’t matter that technically he was present – he’s been shown the photos of them all together in Chicago – but apart from a few hazy almost-memories, he doesn’t remember it at all.

Face doesn’t want to make a fuss, but Hannibal can see the disappointment in sapphire eyes. He knows his boy never had particularly good Christmas memories from when he was really a boy, too many children at the orphanage, or yet another temporary set of foster parents who didn’t care as much as much as they should. Without ever making it obvious, or worse, making it seem like pity, Hannibal has always made a special effort at this time of year, wherever they are in the world, just for his boy. And this Christmas had been great, but now his lover feels like he’s missed out.

It’s no hardship at all to pull the decorations back down from the attic, where they’ve only been back in their boxes for a week or so. He and Face spend a quiet evening redecorating their home, rescuing the mostly-dead tree, with Bing Crosby singing about peace on earth softly in the background. They don’t do presents – for each of them it’s enough that they are together and whole again – but Murdock delights in cooking up yet another Christmas feast with all the trimmings, revelling in his Head Chef status, previously lost to BA’s mother.

Their second Christmas, Face’s first with all his memories intact, is just perfect, despite the strange looks they get from the neighbours when Hannibal agrees to let Murdock re-inflate the giant Snowman on their front lawn – BA grumbles the whole time about it ‘accidentally’ getting a puncture when he puts it away this time. It feels like a celebration more than anything, and now, Hannibal lies in their bed, holding his naked lover tight in his arms, just watching him sleep, unable to believe how lucky he is. Face is alive and well, his memories intact, remembering everything they’ve been through to get to the place they are now, both professionally and personally. 

Unable to resist, he strokes one warm hand up his lover’s spine, into that soft hair he loves so much, and feels Face stir against his chest, moving into his gentle touch. Warm lips kiss his chest, just below his collarbone, and in response Hannibal pulls that responsive body a little closer. “Didn’t mean to wake you, baby,” he whispers into the quiet of their room.

“Wasn’t really sleeping,” Face murmurs against his neck. “Just thinking. About everything.”

He can only imagine what his lover is feeling. Confused most likely – Hannibal certainly was, a little, at first. He’d had no doubts about Face being able to fit back into their team, into the Rangers, but he’d been worried about the strength of their relationship. As enthusiastic as the young Face had been, without the memory of those shared years, so many conversations, opening up to each other about their thoughts and fears… Hannibal had been worried, nervous about starting all over again when he already knew so much about his boy. 

“What was he like?” At first the whispered question throws him a little, until Face clarifies, “I mean, what was I like?”

How to answer that. They haven’t really talked about ‘young Face’, as he has taken to thinking of him. He thinks for a long moment, pressing his nose into soft curls and inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of Face’s shampoo. “He – you – were still you, I suppose,” he starts. “You were a little more insecure than I remembered, and a little less confident, but I think a large part of that was not knowing everyone, remembering who owed you a favour, who to avoid.”

Hannibal feels Face nod against his chest, the younger man still not looking up to meet his gaze. “That makes sense. I know I’m a lot more confident now, but that’s mostly down to you, John.” Before Hannibal can interrupt, his lover continues, “You and him… You told him about us? And he was willing to try? Being together”

“Yes.”

“I’d wanted you so badly, for so long…” Face kisses his neck, right on the pulse point, and Hannibal has to bite back his moan of pleasure as a skilful hand teases gently across his stomach, even as his lover still sounds so lost in thought. Damn, he’d missed this – a lover who knows his own favourite hotspots without thinking. “I almost think this must have been harder on you that it was on me. It must have been so strange for you, with me not knowing how this works, how you like me to - ”

For a moment the lines between the younger Face and his more mature self blur together, Hannibal in awe at the generosity of spirit that makes his boy think of others before himself, but then he can’t hold back his gasp as that hand dips lower to tease the base of his penis, already half hard just from their proximity. But he feels the need to explain more to his boy, about how this was about the emotional as much as the physical for him, and so he captures that roving hand in his own, flipping Face onto his back and coming to rest lightly over him. Staring into those bright blue eyes, searching for the right words, he tries, “It was almost as if we had a second chance, kid. All those years we wasted, dancing around each other… Seven years ago, I wanted you but I never knew you wanted me, you never gave me any sign…”

* * *

“John…” Face hates seeing the frown that settles across his lover’s handsome brow, a touch of sadness creeping into those blue-grey eyes. “They weren’t wasted years, sweetheart. We were together even if we weren’t, y’know, together.” He strains up to meet Hannibal’s waiting lips in a gentle kiss. “I don’t regret anything, boss, not a single minute of a single hour of a single day. Everything that we went through led us together, to this.”

His lover lets his head drop forward, resting their foreheads together as Face wraps long arms around Hannibal’s back. “Oh, baby, I love you so. I hoped we would’ve made it work, if you had never remembered those minutes and hours and days, but I don’t know that you ever would have reached a point where you felt you deserved my love. We were in two completely different places, though you were still you, and I - ”

“Hush, John.” The emotion in Hannibal’s voice is almost more than he can stand. He’s had small flashes of memory, what he assumes are the last few weeks of their lives, and he knows a little about how patient Hannibal had been with him, how the older man had tried to give him the space and the time to make his own decisions, without the memory of how they had finally found each other three years ago. And he knows Hannibal is right – seven years ago he had never believed he would be worthy of Hannibal’s love, as much as he wanted it. “We’ve come so far together. We found each other twice now, and I know we would have made it work. We’re meant to be together - don’t dwell on what might have been.” 

He brings their lips together in a deep, passionate kiss, trying to pour everything he feels for this wonderful, generous, caring man into his actions. Hannibal responds instantly, opening up to him and deepening the kiss even further, leaning his whole weight down onto Face, strong legs nudging Face’s apart and bringing their bodies flush together. For long minutes, they lose themselves in each other, before Face manages to pull back, breathing hard and fast. 

He needs to say this, before the tide of passion sweeps them both away and he loses the ability to think. He hates what he’s put his lover through, though he believes without a shadow of a doubt they would always find a way to stay together, memories or not. “We belong together, John. I know I’m worthy of your love, and I know you’re worthy of mine. I love you so very much, and I probably don’t say that enough.”

“Temp…” His lover’s voice is low and rough with emotion as he grinds their bodies together slowly, hard muscles sliding together in a way Face loves. As always, it draws a long groan from his throat, and he feels his eyes flutter closed helplessly.

“I can’t believe I forgot this.” Another gasp as Hannibal shifts his position ever so slightly, their matching erections sliding easily together. “I can’t believe I forgot how much we love each other.”

“Perhaps another reminder, sweetheart?” The slightest hint of a smile in Hannibal’s voice now, and Face stops thinking altogether, giving himself over to the sheer pleasure and love they share as his lover starts to move seriously now, big hands roaming freely over his body, and they lose themselves together in passion.

* * *

In the aftermath, two men lie together in the dark, hard breathing slowing at last, sticky bodies wrapped around each other, as close as they can possibly be. Though they don’t realise, each man thinking the other has already fallen asleep, they are both thinking the same thoughts, remembering the same things.

Body sated, mind at peace, Face revels in the feeling of Hannibal’s heavy hand tangled in his hair. He remembers the first time he saw his lover, across a muddy field, when he was just a teenager. He remembers the thrill he felt when he finally made it through training, into Hannibal’s unit. How his lust turned into love, how unworthy he felt, until finally, finally… He remembers the first night they slept together, wrapped in each other’s arms just like they are now, and he remembers the many nights they have shared a bed, sharing kisses and whispered secrets in the dark. He knows this man, body and soul, and he remembers the first time they said ‘I love you’, the awe he heard in Hannibal’s voice as the older man repeated it over and over and over, the way his own heart had stuttered when he said it back, realising it was the first time he had ever said the words and truly meant them. 

Hannibal focuses on the warm body draped over his, feeling his lover’s heart beat steadily in rhythm with his own. He remembers the first time he saw those brilliant blue eyes shining at him across a muddy field, how he swore to himself that he would protect this incredible young man, keep him close as long as he wanted to stay. He remembers the hope growing in his chest as they slowly edged towards each other, the hope that just maybe Face felt the same way he did. He remembers their first kiss, slow and hesitant on both sides, and he remembers the first time they made love, the way he fought back his tears at how perfect it all seemed.

As Face feels sleep pull him down, exhausted body growing heavier still as he lies on Hannibal’s strong chest, he remembers again how very lucky he is to have this man in his life, how lucky they both are to have found each other in the chaos of the world they work in, the danger they willingly put themselves in with every new mission. The memories they share bind them together, and his heart breaks a little to think that he could have forgotten the joy he felt when they finally admitted their love for each other. But as he finally drifts into the dark, safe and supported in his lover’s arms, he knows it doesn’t matter. They belong together, memories or not.

Hannibal’s eyes are too heavy to keep open now, body sinking deeper into the soft mattress, and he knows he’ll soon be joining his lover in a deep, relaxed sleep. Tomorrow they must resume their normal lives, preparing for a new deployment now Face is finally signed back off his medical leave. He’s never taken their relationship for granted, always tried to show his younger lover how much he appreciates him, but as he finally succumbs to the need for rest his final though is a vow. A simple one, but powerful. He’ll always love this incredible man, he knows that, and he vows to himself that he’ll make sure Face always knows that, whatever it takes. Even if Face forgets everything, forgets his entire life – and Hannibal knows that, maybe, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for his lover to forget certain parts of his childhood – he vows that he will always be there to tell Face he is loved. 

At the end of the day, everything else is unimportant.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Indigo Angels as part of the ATeam Secret Santa 2012


End file.
